The Highest Tower
by Blaithin-mae
Summary: Broken Fairytale series: Rapunzel . Harry was just an orphan trapped in a tower of unfilled prophesies and Draco was just the boy that made him want to run away. D/H, Dark COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**The Highest Tower**

_**Summary:**Broken Fairytale series: Rapunzel__. Harry was just an orphan trapped in a tower of unfilled prophesies and Draco was just the boy that made him want to run away. D/H, Dark. _

_**Warnings: **Dark, mentions of torture and sexual abuse._

* * *

The tower had been Voldermort's final curse.

It was an odd and unfamiliar one, even to Harry; who had spent too long in dungeons experiencing Voldermort's wrath. He sometimes thought it must have been done unconsciously of the dark wizard, it seemed too subtle for him and Voldermort was never anything but obvious in his intents.

The tower was just a circle of stone really, stacks of books and cool brick and Harry who barely moved anymore apart from his daily treks from his bed to his workbench and then back again.

Anything he wanted appeared for him, anything he needed was always there, but he wanted and needed little and so the room remained barren and cold, constantly pressed against by the world's realties and the whispering echoes of his unfilled prophesies.

Daylight was always thin and watery through the single window and Harry stared at it from behind his barrier of books, the old dead dust a million small white snowflakes floating around him and he could all but feel the heat of the day against his skin. He felt the prickle of Dumbledore's magic slithering around the small room before he saw him.

"Harry is it time?"

The man was bright and weary looking, framed in shafts of sunlight and his eyes were as always twinkling stars of blue that seemed so, very distant as Harry peered up at him, barely able to face the glare of the sun.

He traced the leather spines of his books thoughtfully and the whispers of prophesies rose and roared in his head. "No not yet" he said softly and wondered if Dumbledore could hear him over the raging echoes of fate.

Dumbledore' star bright eyes didn't diminish and he smiled understandingly at Harry, rummaging in his canary yellow robes and produced another one of those old leather covered, hard backed books he always brought. "Ok my boy" he said, "maybe soon?"

Harry's hand was thin and pale as he reached for the new book, he smiled, squinting against the sun's glare and didn't answer the old wizard. Familiar magic bubbled through the air again and then Dumbledore was gone and Harry was alone in his stone tower once more, watching the tiny particles of dust fluttering around him.

The sun didn't reach him, but he swore he could feel its warmth.

---

His days were shorter than before. Solitude and the ever present whispering made it feel so anyway. He spent the daylight researching, trying to figure out an easy solution to Voldermort's hatred and the nights trying to ignore the feel of Tom's breath against his neck. The dreams had been getting worse since he'd come to the tower, he woke feeling fingerprint highways burning across his shoulders and gagged as his half memories left his ears ringing with the echoing of prophesises and cruel laughter.

Harry pushed aside his breakfast and pulled out the newest leather backed book Dumbledore had given him, ignoring in his fear and his crawling flesh the swirls of dust that moved around him.

His books lined every single wall in clumsy piles of discarded material. Dumbledore brought him a new book everyday and his desk groaned beneath the weight of unread material and the ink splattered sheets of notes that Harry had scrawled. He spent his morning in a flurry of activity and fell into exhausted slumber half way through the day, curled over his desk and pillowing his head against wasted arms and as always plagued by Tom's dream self and the murmurs.

Hermione and Ron didn't visit him much anymore and they never came together. Harry knew he was taking too long, there were no more soft words of patient silences and Ron was a raging pillar of anger and Hermione a crumbling pillar of confusion. But he had no words for them and the roaring in his head was higher and stronger than any tower could hope to be.

Hermione's magic didn't slither or bubble like Dumbledore's, she was a sudden bright pop into his tower and his heart ached as she hurried, sparkling as bright as sunlight through the room. Her eyes were terrible soft and glazed with angry tears as she fussed over him, tucking him into his big, Gryffindor red sheets with a pat that's half motherly and half something else.

His skin was terribly pale and the marks of weariness and dreams were purple bruises pressed deep under his eyes and he was paper thin beneath her hands. "This can't continue Harry, it really can't." She whispered against his hair and he can feel her tears as they spilled and slid over his forehead. He could only clutch at her hand with his flipside comfort and she sobbed as she traced his spider leg fingers.

"We need you Harry" her words are swallowed into his sleep and the whispering roars around him and that, is entirely the problem.

He was broken and unless. Voldermort had kept him for too long, distorting and breaking and remaking everything that Harry was until there was nothing in him but broken pieces and memories. They needed him and he was empty, he had nothing but fear left to give them and fear had never won any wars.

Voldermort was still out there, waiting somewhere outside his tower and they wanted him to go back into the world of blood and pain and destroy him. They needed him to do it and Harry was afraid of their need, afraid of their prophesises. He was unwillingly to die for them and when he'd realised that was what they wanted the tower had appeared, ivory and stone and protection. He needed to find another way and until he did, Tom haunted his dreams and his food was ash in his mouth, but it was better than being out there.

The tower was his prison and his haven; he was half abandoned now in his circle against prophesises and Tom's hands were more alive every night, so he didn't sleep so much and that was why he first saw Draco.

He knew Draco, knew him and dismissed him and the boy was pale moonlight and crushed glass sneers as he gazed up into Harry's tower. "Why are you stuck in that tower?"

"Waiting" Harry replied and the moon was a big shinning backdrop for their scene of hating intimacy. Draco eyes' were liquid metal and he's mocked Harry from the ground and laughed at him without any lost patience or any soft emotion.

"I think you're afraid" he'd laughed and Harry had leant over the stone window ledge, his hair curling around his neck and his protruding collarbones as he'd peered downwards; his face was pale and bruised and weary looking in the twilight.

"Maybe" he'd whispered and the echoes roared in his head.

Draco's mouth twisted up at one corner till his face looked lob-sided and ugly, "you're an idiot"

"Definitely" Harry replied and it was only Draco's laughter that rang into the night.

Tom left bruises on his skin that night; Harry hunched into his pillows and pressed the heels of hands against his ears, trying to ignore the roaring and Tom's glass fingernails as they cut slow painful lines across his hips. _"Mine_" the whispers had echoed and the tower of prophesises had shimmered and crumbled for a moment.

Dumbledore came again the next day and Harry had accepted his book and stayed silent for his questions, flinching away from the man's hands. Dumbledore's star blue eyes still shone bright and were framed gold in the sunlight. Harry was blinded against its brightest and longed for the moon.

"Still locked up like a princess?" Draco had greeted him that night.

Harry had his elbows on the stone ledge and his head in his palms and had stared down with those big shatter glass eyes into Draco's pale, sneering face.

"Yes" he'd answered and Draco had hissed with dissatisfaction at his complacency.

"If you're a princess where's your prince?"

Harry had furrowed his forehead "I'm the prince as well, of course"

Draco had hummed angrily in the back of his throat and rolled his eyes "a fairy tale made by feminism"

Harry had laughed at that one.

---

Hermione came to visit him again a week later, pressing a packet of sweets in his hands as she popped into his tower. The sugar powder dusted the edges of the white paper and he glanced down slightly bewildered. She sighed and ran a hand through her messy hair, full of nervous, unresolved energy.

"You need to eat more"

Harry smiled at her fondly and placed the bag onto his work desk, hidden in between his notes and his books, "You've been saying that to me since we met" he said softly and rubbed at the smears of ink on his palms. Hermione's gaze was lost and she pressed her lips together till they were bone white against her skin.

"I wish I hadn't now" she said terribly quiet and the whispers roared in his head.

Her fingers stroked at his hair, movements jerky with emotion, "Your hair's getting so long"

Harry could feel Tom's jealousy and hear the prophesises as he responded "Maybe you'll be able to climb it soon"

"Maybe you'll be able to climb down it sooner"

---

Draco didn't come that night and Harry drifted and jerked between consciousnesses fitfully. Tom's hands traced his thin body angrily and left hand shaped bruises on the insides of his thighs and finger burns around his neck.

His books held no appeal for him in the morning and Harry lay listless and weak in his bed watching from beneath his scarlet sheets as the sunlight wavered from his perfect square window in watery columns that hurt his eyes.

The whispers were loud that day.

It rained heavy throughout the night, hard enough that the world was a million distorted fragments through his little window and Harry stretched out across the stone ledge, reaching into the grey sheets until his toes were only barely scraping against the stone floor.

"You're going to fall"

Draco was gleaming with rain, his white face half hidden beneath the sopping tendrils of pale hair

"I don't think so" Harry had answered and laid almost limply against the ledge, his hair sliding wet and slippery down his skin till it disappeared into his collar. "Why are you out there, it's raining?"

Draco smile was brighter than the moon and sharper than razors, "Why are you in there, it's raining?"

Harry frowned and peered into Draco's pale face looking for understanding; he found none and didn't reply.

Draco huffed in disinterest and stared up at the sky, straight into the bullets of water. Harry could see him spinning and twirling in the ribbons of the rain, his clothes stuck and plastered to his lean form and his eyes reflecting the moon. He watched the boy's freedom with something akin to jealously and Tom's voice was a frantic hiss of hatred against his neck, handprint burning ownership across his damp flesh.

"Will you come and join me" Draco asked, his voice moonlight and wind, cutting through the roar of prophesies and Tom's cries. Harry leant further out, wishing he could fall.

"I don't know if I can"

"There's no one stopping you" Draco replied, dripping with mockery and smugness and Harry shivered and leant back into the safety of his tower, the dust swirling around him and the moonlight only visable through the tiny square of his window.

"I know" he'd whispered back and slunk away to be enfolded in Tom's burning arms and the echoes.

Tom laughed against his neck and Harry awoke with his chest torn up and his hands bloody.

-------------

Voldermort had owned Harry for two years.

He had captured him when he was fourteen, his victorious gin pulling at the taunt skin of his face and his teeth like knifes as he held the youth down, Cedric lifeless body just out of reach of his straining fingers. His eyes were like the glass marbles of porcelain dolls and his face was still twisted in cruel surprise.

"Oh Harry," Voldermort had said, his magic like a cloak of glass over the boy. "We're going to have to have so much fun"

Harry hadn't had fun.

The dark lord had cut and sliced and carved until there was nothing left and he was still alive only by magic and willpower and just when Harry thought he would finally die, the man would piece him all back together and his skin still throbbing and tender Tom would grin down at him, painted red by his blood and begin all over again.

Harry screams never stopped and Voldermort's grin never wavered. He made art with the boy's body, broke him and rebuilt him so many times that he was entirely Tom's creation and for that Tom loved him. Hatefully and painfully but enough to keep the child alive, he licked away Harry's tears and washed Harry's hair and then went right back to gutting him.

Harry was half mad and wished he was fully mad when things changed. Voldermort took him off the rack and dressed him up, fitting him in silk and velvet and setting him up like a living doll. His too long, too thin hands burnt highways over Harry's skin and even through the wounds didn't scar anymore, Harry wished for death more.

Voldermort couldn't bear for anyone else to see the youth and locked Harry away in his rooms, keeping him quiet and immobile with magic, tense and exhausted in his apprehension and then he would come back and cut his body and kiss his face and it would begin all over again.

Harry didn't know how he escaped. He had just snapped, he had been so far off the edge that madness stroked like fire at his soul and his mind was half rotted and half broken. He had been sprawled, limp and full of agony and madness before Voldermort and Tom's brilliant obsessed smile had filled his vision.

He had run his blades across Harry's scarred chest and torn his flesh into ribbons, dipping his fingers into the blood and licking at his soaked digits.

"Are we having fun yet?" the man had whispered and Harry had forgotten how to breath, the air was on fire and his body was spasming. He was vaguely aware of his cries and of Voldermort's screams and the heat his magic had created. Then blackness overtook him.

In comparison the tower was a welcome relief.

* * *

_To be concluded in part two, which should be up in the next couple of days._

_This is the first in my Broken Fairytale series. If you have any fairytales that you wish me to murder and mutilate please tell me which. For all those people waiting for the next chapter of Ugly, its half done._

_Reviews are wished for. _


	2. Chapter 2

**The Highest Tower**

**--Chapter 2—**

"Let me brush your hair"

Hermione's hands are painfully gentle as she unknots the tangles of Harry's hair, it curls down in one thick curtain to the small of his back, pulling heavily at his scalp and Harry would have cut it but he didn't have the energy for it. He didn't have energy for much of anything really.

His own hands were bandaged and splintered and if Hermione had noticed she didn't say anything to him.

Harry stared into the conjured mirror in front of him, his eyes hauntingly and brilliantly bright in the dim, watery sunlight of the dusty room. He was all starved edges and quiet defeatism and he hated it. His hand suddenly struck out and angrily crashed into the reflective oval, his broken fingers lacing with spider webs of pain and his face shattering into a million broken shards that tumbled out of sight.

Hermione jumped in fright; staring at the mirror and Harry with eyes illuminated by the sun. "Oh Harry" she said softly and her arms came tentatively around his frail form, embracing him with fierce love. "It's going to be okay" she repeated like a mantra against his long hair. Harry was stiff and vacant in her arms and his eyes stung with unshed tears.

"I don't think it will ever be okay" he answered softly into the coarse material of her jumper, his tears unable to leave.

Hermione cried for him and Harry allowed her to hold him, trying not to listen to Tom's loving mockery and the roar of prophesises that echoed in his head. He had nothing to comfort his friend with, so instead he hoped his submission to her embrace would be enough; from the shadowed expression in her dark eyes he didn't think it would be. She left soon after, her face white and holding the shards of the conjured mirror. Harry wasn't sure if she would ever be back. Not many people came to visit him and those that did watched him as if he caused them physical pain.

Swimming in guilt and memories he stumbled back to his candy red sheets and lay down, stiff and straight and corpse like, his hair fanned out around his pale face, melting away like old blood and death. He fell into dreams of torture and memories of pain, Tom's hands scratching at his skin and his hips were bruised black when he woke.

---

"Wake up, princess"

Draco's pale face was peering down at him impatiently and the roar of nightmares and Tom's jealously was enough to make Harry flinch away from him, tumbling off the bed awkwardly.

Draco's iced laugh was crisp in his haze and he held out a pale hand to help Harry up. "You don't come to the window anymore" he said, eyes burning mercury. Harry looked at Draco's hand and got up by himself, shying away from the boy. Without the distance and the safety of stone walls between them, Draco seemed sharp and dangerous and Harry was suddenly full of memories of Lucius Malfoy with his skulls and death eaters' robes.

Draco expression was tight and his eyes ran judgementally over Harry's too long hair and his too thin body and the stained bandages wrapped around his hands. He turned away from the gryffindor's closed off face and threw himself onto Harry's bright red sheets languidly and even Harry had to admire the odd uncaring gracefulness of his body and he could feel his cheeks flushing as he watched the pale youth; Tom's laughter ringing in his ears.

"Why are you here?" he asked quietly, his voice swallowed in the echoes of prophesises.

Draco shrugged and glanced up at him from beneath half mast eyelids. "Why weren't you at the window?"

Harry sank next to him, careful not to touch the other youth and leant forward hiding behind the curtain of his hair wearily. "I'm tired"

Draco's expression was unreadable; his eyes cold and full of moonlight. He was unreadable a lot of the time to Harry, a strange exotic creature in his world of ordinary and organised and he kind of loved and feared him a little for it.

"You only sleep in memories" the boy responded and Harry couldn't have said what that meant exactly but his heart thudded fearfully against his ribcage.

He shrugged, wrapping his arms around his thin torso. "All I have is memories"

Draco snorted and angrily grabbed at Harry's arms, ignoring the nervous quivering beneath his hands and stared in Harry's shatter glass expression. "If you believe that you're as good as dead"

Harry was quiet and shaking in Draco's arms and there were no words for his desperation and fear. Draco released him slowly, his fingers hesitant to uncurl from their desperate hold on Harry's thin paper-skinned limbs, stroking at the tender flesh in the crook of his elbow.

He finally untangled himself from Harry and stood up, staring at him with something akin to impatience. "Everyone's scared" he said softly and disappeared. Draco's magic wasn't a pop or the slithering of power is was wind and moonlight and Harry wanted to follow him so badly it hurt.

His shivering didn't stop for a long time.

---

Dumbledore appeared in the tower with his customary slither of magic, his eyes shadowed and his face full of cold sunlight. "Hello, my dear boy"

Harry didn't move from his bed, but glanced up at the old wizard hesitantly. Dumbledore face was vacant of smiles and patience and he was drawn and frail looking as he stared down at Harry's dust covered books. Harry was too full of roaring whispers and blood sprayed memories to care overly much and the disappointment and worry in his old face.

"It is time" Dumbledore said gravely, his eyes burning stars and Harry flinched away from their intensity. He rose from the bed, hair wild and tangled down his back, framing his starving face.

"No" he answered softly and stared at his bandaged hands, his wrists were bruised and raw and covered in rope burns. "I won't die for you" he answered, "I won't die for anyone"

Dumbledore visibly softened and reached out gently for the youth, his eyes blue skies and sea water. "Oh Harry, No one's asking you to die"

Harry staggered, with jerky, angry motions to his feet and glared at the old wizard with hate born of desperation. "Leave me alone!" he cried and his magic exploded in fear, pushing Dumbledore violently away, till the man staggered precariously against the window. "All I want; is to be left alone!"

Dumbledore leant against the window ledge and stared at the boy over his shoulder. "Will you stay in here forever?" he asked gently and Harry wilted under the question, turning away until he felt the man's magical slithering exit.

He had no answer for the old wizard and none for himself.

He was beginning to think the tower wasn't Voldermort's curse at all.

---

"Think I can climb your hair?"

Draco was grinning up at him, illuminated by moonlight and lazy in his absence of empathy.

Harry frowned and tugged at the renegade strands that had escaped from his tangle of dark hair, it looped around his body and trailed to rest against his backside; dusty and knotted. He thought it might fall out if the pale boy tried and leant wearily against the window ledge, feeling his odd tumble of desperate thoughts quiet at the image of Draco's sneering grin. "Why don't you just apparate up here?"

Draco waved his arm dismissingly and sank to the grassy floor, sprawling out on his back so he could gaze upright at Harry's pale face easier. "Apparently you try to throw people out of windows when they do that"

"I wouldn't throw you out"

Draco smirks faded a little and his face looked softer and younger without the constant flashes of sharp teeth and harsh lines. "Harry" he said softly, "Why are you in the tower"

Harry frowned reminiscent of their earlier conversation, "Haven't you already asked me this?"

"But the real answer" Draco pressed and Harry was vaguely aware of the boy's sharp eyes and the thin line of his mouth as he waited silently. His words were caught up in his throat and he kind of knew that answering would mean something, really mean something even if he didn't know what that would be yet.

"I'm scared to leave" he whispered.

Draco disappeared from before his gaze and his magic was like a gentle caress as he apparated before the dark haired boy. His eyes were liquid and tender and he had to lean down to meet Harry's humiliated face, his hands, soft as silk and slender were hot against the lines of his jaws and he gently tugged at Harry until he was staring into molten silver and crystal glass.

"That" he said softly into Harry's tangle of dark hair, "Is a stupid reason"

His lips were poker hot against Harry's mouth then, soft and unyielding and full of blossoming feeling and emotion and Harry melted a little against the boy's slender body, quivering against his gentle hands and tasting freedom and old fear.

Tom was silent.

---

Draco came more and more often after that. Always under the cover of moonlight; he said sunlight was too harsh for his delicate colouring and ranted egotistically about his pure blood until Harry had laughed at him.

He brought tales of freedom and adventure, stories of his own debauchery and meaningless conquests and Harry longed so very much to join him it hurt with sweet jealously to listen to him. They didn't discuss the odd nature of their visits and Draco never tried to touch him again.

Harry wasn't sure he would be upset if the boy did.

Tom still haunted his dreams and those days in his dungeons were still vivid in Harry's memories but they were washed out colour in comparison to Draco's bright smile and his reflective eyes and the tower would waver and fade a little when Draco would grin at him, all teeth and curling lips and if either of them noticed they never mentioned it.

Harry's dusty ink and paper filled desk became a trophy shelf for all the trinkets and presents Draco brought him, each with a story and the consequence of renewed longing for freedom. He loved them and caressed them and it was only at night did Tom laugh and mock him for them and he shuddered at the thought of leaving the safety of his tower, turning away from the passing fancies of leaving he indulged in.

Draco never once asked Harry to come outside again and when Harry had asked him why, he had shrugged and slung an arm with almost unfeigned casualness around Harry's narrow shoulders as he thought of a suitable answer.

"You'll leave when you're ready. You just need to know there's more out there" The trinkets glimmered out the corner of his eyes and Harry had shivered beneath his arm and slipped away awkwardly.

"Voldermort's out there"

"You don't have to go to him" Draco answered slowly, but there was fierceness in his tone caused Harry to glance up at him sharply. "You can do whatever you want"

"What is there but Voldermort?" he questioned and even he could hear the quiet desperation in his words.

Draco smile was the soften curl of lips and sincerity and he breathed with boiling breath against Harry's ear. "Me, come with me"

Harry stared at him and ached with desperation and fear. His expression full of hopeful longing and fear that made him hunch over in dark memories.

Draco pressed his lips together uncomfortably and inched closer, lowering his voice as if taking to a spooked animal. "What happened? What happened with him ?"

There was no demand in his voice and for that Harry was grateful, the words and memories were like tar in his head and mouth and he gagged a little as Tom's smirking, blood painted face filled his vision. Draco's hand was warm and silken against his own, coiling their fingers together until he couldn't tell whose were whose. Harry stroked their entwined hands with his eyes and started to talk.

And talk.

Once he started he couldn't stop. The memories kept so long to fester and grow in his solitary world spilled out of him, faster and faster until he was weeping and crying into Draco's stiff and tender arms. His hands petted at his long tangled hair but there were no words of meaningless comfort, no promise that things were going to be okay and Harry was thankful and pained in equal amounts.

They were lay on Harry's bright red sheets, curled up and so very small in the world and when Draco finally did talk his words were blades through the whispers of fate that had wrapped around them.

"It shouldn't be like that," he said softly, still stroking at Harry's long hair, "It isn't meant to be like that. He was terribly cruel to you"

Harry nodded into Draco's pale neck, taking comfort from the steady, constant pulse he could feel beneath his cheek, "He has broke me"

Draco tightened his grip, fingers burning marks into Harry's flesh, reminding him for a fleeting second of Voldermort's cruel embraces. "No, you are not broken, just hurt, just a little hurt."

The pale youth moved slightly till he was half tilted over Harry's weary, thin face. His hands traced the butter knife cheek bones and the bruises of colour beneath Harry's shattered gem eyes. "Let me fix you" he whispered and his breath was hot against Harry's mouth.

Harry's lips quivered in answer, his heart seizing in fear and he felt limp and lifeless for a moment in Draco's arms. The boy's face was moonlight and silk and his eyes, usually so cold and bright, were melted to grey hues of tender feeling and Harry was lost in a world of silver. He nodded his consent against Draco's mouth and the boy smiled into him, burning his confidence into him until Harry's fear crept back into the recesses of his mind.

He had thought Voldermort had ruined him, broken him and crushed him until there was nothing but a hollow shell in his place. He had thought he could never be fixed, never feel properly again and he trembled at the thought of trying.

Draco was a passionate being, but he loved sweetly and gently that night and Harry opened like a flower before him until he wept with newly discovered desire and for the abuse he had suffered. Draco held him and kissed away his tears and they fell into languid, pleasure filled sleep, coiled around each with naked limbs and entwined hands. Harry glanced up at his moonlight face and loved him for a singularly perfect moment. He felt his heart clench with regret in response and the tears started again.

The tower hadn't been Voldermort's final curse at all. It had been Harry first curse and his knowledge was bitter in his mouth.

He kissed Draco's red stained mouth and pressed closer, listening to the steady, strong pulse beneath moon kissed skin; his tears giving the boy's flesh another layer of shine.

"Thank you"

---

Draco awoke alone.

There was no small, warm body beside him, no red sheets or pillows, no tower or dust covered books.

He was alone, curled up in the grove of a grassy hill, his arm twisted around to cushion his head. He stumbled, bewildered to feet, staring over the barren countryside, his heart twisting in betrayal.

He knew he hadn't imagined it, he could recall ever spot and scar on Harry's body. Remember ever detail of his face, knew a thousand similes to describe his eyes. His arms wrapped around his body in pain and he shuddered against the cold, morning the light. The sun was blinding and his skin prickled uncomfortably in its radiance.

He was meant for moonlight, not the radiance of the sun.

"Malfoy?"

The voice wasn't Harry's, it was softer, higher, more feminine and he turned around slowly to stare into the bright, sunshine graze of Hermione Granger. She hesitantly moved towards him, her eyes taking in the empty hill and his angry, hollow expression.

"Here" she said softly and held out a letter. Thin and full of things he didn't want to acknowledge.

"Where is he?" he demanded fiercely, pushing her hand away viciously, the letter crushed into his fist.

She didn't wilt beneath his glare, she was sunlight and he was waxen and weak in comparison. Instead her stare was calm and full of hopeful joy that twisted at his heart.

"He's gone to fight Voldermort" she answered, her smile fading at his anguished expression. "Draco..."

"Fuck off." He snarled, closing himself off from her, his arms tightening around himself as if he could hold his heart together. He had offered himself up and been rejected and it hurt more than anything he could have imagined.

"Please, it's not like that..." Hermione was cut off by his growl and he gave her a violent shove, sending her stumbling away. She frowned, bright and distant and full of the sun and he couldn't compete with her. She sighed and walked off and he realised that Harry for all his broken fear was sunlight too and he was merely moonlight. The moon was nothing next to the sun.

The letter was so small and thin in his hand and he ripped it open, his eyes full of tears.

* * *

_I know what was in that Letter and isn't it cruel not to tell you._

_I got quite into this the more I wrote of it, enough that I will be going over it and making it better because its sketchy at best at the moment. Anyway reviews; tell me you liked it, that you hated it. _

_The next broken fairytale will be Aladdin in case you're interested. _

_Enjoy._


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